


Landing Ground

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Eames is Santa (Again), Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Secret Saito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Arthur is an expert at doing ridiculous things. But this? This really takes the cake.





	Landing Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmorland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmorland/gifts).



> For msmorland, whose prompt was _lights._
> 
> For those of you who don't know what the luminaria is, here's a [nifty little article for you.](https://www.nytimes.com/1991/12/25/nyregion/on-every-street-they-light-a-path-to-christmas.html)
> 
> Happy Holidays!!

Arthur is an expert at doing ridiculous things. It's not exactly something he can put on a resume, but it's the truth. He's used to friends—well, _Dom_ —calling him and asking for support, both physical and emotional, and now there isn't much left in the world that can surprise him.

But this? This really takes the cake.

"Are you serious?" Arthur asks, for the umpteenth time.

Dom squints at him. "Arthur. It's _tradition._ "

"Listen, I helped you lay out every single one of these fire hazards, isn't that enough?"

"But we have to make sure Santa—"

"Are you even listening to yourself right now?" Arthur interrupts. "We just put a million candles in little paper bags down your entire street, for _Santa._ "

"Yes."

"And now you want me to stand here, in the cold, guarding these little paper bags, to make sure Santa properly finds them so he can land his sleigh."

"Yes."

"Dom," Arthur asks carefully, "exactly how many drugs are you on right now?"

"It's tradition," Dom whines.

"It's a fire hazard," Arthur repeats. "I'm just waiting for a toddler to go up in smoke."

Dom sighs. "Arthur," he says in that tone that means _Why are you trying to suck the fun out of my life?_

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to stand out here, alone, on Christmas Eve."

Dom smiles. "You're such a good friend."

Arthur sighs. "At least get me a coffee, dammit."

*

Dom sends Phillipa outside with a cup of hot chocolate.

"The hot chocolate is for Santa," Phillipa says solemnly.

Arthur doesn't have the heart to tell her Santa won't be here to enjoy the hot chocolate.

"I'll tell him you made it for him," he says instead, clutching the mug in his stiff fingers.

Phillipa beams. "Thank you!" she calls, running back to the warm house.

Arthur chugs the hot chocolate and watches his breath freeze in the air. "Fuck you, Dom," he says to the empty street. 

It doesn't make him feel any better.

*

At first, Arthur thinks it's some weird shooting star. He notices the movement in the sky too late, and by the time he's looking up, it's already gone. 

He figures it's frostbite in his brain or something. But then he hears bells, and looks up just in time to see an absolutely enormous, bright red sleigh approaching him.

It's a good thing he ducks.

The sleigh lands unnaturally quietly, parked perfectly between the two rows of lights lining the street.

Arthur approaches the sleigh, cloaking himself in self-righteous indignation. He figures he's allowed it, since, well, he almost got decapitated by a red sleigh.

The man behind the… _reins_ is dressed as Santa, because of course that's how tonight is going to go. He beams as Arthur approaches.

"A welcome party! I haven't had one of those in a good fifty years! Merry Christmas, love!"

Arthur takes in the man's British accent, stupid smile, and equally stupid hat as he takes that last step towards the sleigh and hisses, "What the fuck's your problem, asshole? You almost killed me!"

"Is that for me?" the British Santa Guy asks, gesturing at the mug in Arthur's hands. "You shouldn't have, really."

He pulls it out of Arthur's frozen fingers, then frowns. "I don't see anything in here, love."

"There was originally hot chocolate in it," Arthur informs him.

British Santa Guy gasps dramatically. "Did trolls steal it?"

"Did—did you just say _trolls_?"

"I didn't think they ventured this far from the North Pole, but you know, with climate change and all…"

Arthur stares at him. "It wasn't trolls. I drank it."

"You?"

"It was cold!"

"But it was mine!"

Arthur glances away and catches sight of the reindeers, staring placidly at him. "What the fuck," he mutters.

"If you use that language all the time, love, I'm going to have to put you on the naughty list," British Santa Guy informs him seriously.

"What drugs are you taking?" Arthur asks, and it's upsetting that that's the second time tonight he's asked somebody the question.

"Drugs?" British Santa Guy echoes. "None at all, love. Only Christmas cheer!"

Arthur sighs. "You think you're Santa."

"I _know_ I'm Santa. But if it bothers you that much, you can call me Eames."

"Like the chair?" Arthur arches a brow.

"They named the chair after me," Eames says grandly. "The owners' daughter wanted her daddy to come home from the war for Christmas, and I brought him. As thanks, they named a chair after me."

Arthur is silent for a moment before he says, "Sure they did," so slowly that the sarcasm is unmistakable.

Eames sighs. "If you don't believe in me, then why did you even put out the luminaria?" he asks, and his voice is suddenly so soft, so sad that Arthur's backtracking through their conversation and hating how much he abruptly misses Eames' ridiculous, bright exuberance. 

"It's tradition," Arthur blurts. 

"Great, I'm a tradition now."

Arthur is panicking now, because maybe this guy really is Santa, maybe he didn't just take a lot of good drugs and grab a sleigh and steal reindeer from a zoo, and that means that maybe Arthur was just a horrible, terrible person to _Santa,_ and dammit that probably means he deserves to be on the naughty list. 

So Arthur shoves his empty mug into Eames' hands then climbs up into the sleigh with him and says, "I'll help you deliver the presents."

"What's the point," Eames pouts. "Nobody loves me anyway, I'm just a _tradition._ "

Arthur can't stop himself from rolling his eyes at the way Eames makes tradition sound like a horrible slur. "Which house are we breaking into first?"

"Breaking in?" Eames echoes.

"I don't think I'm cut out to climb down a chimney," Arthur says, "fair warning."

"Well good, because neither am I," Eames responds, and he holds up an absolutely enormous ring holding too many keys to count. "Pick a key, any key," Eames says.

"This," Arthur says, "is very concerning."

"Says the man who just suggested climbing down people's chimneys."

Arthur rolls his eyes and grabs the keys. "You're in charge of finding the right presents."

"I can manage that." Eames reaches into the back of the sleigh and pulls out a sack large enough to fit Arthur. "Lead the way, love."

And that's how Arthur finds himself delivering presents with Eames-who-is-also-Santa. They walk down the entire street, quietly unlocking doors and tiptoeing around sleeping kids. Arthur tries not to be concerned at the fact that Eames also has everyone's security system codes. Eames eats all the cookies and brings carrots back for the reindeer.

It's all very surreal.

Arthur doesn't question any of it.

They deliver the presents to Dom's house last. Eames presses the presents into Arthur's arms, then presses Arthur against the door frame and whispers, "Merry Christmas, love. Thank you for my lights."

"Yeah," Arthur says stupidly. "Sure. Okay."

Eames smiles, and Arthur blinks, and when he reopens his eyes, Eames is gone.

*

"Santa, Santa, Santa, _Santa!_ "

Arthur jerks awake and rolls off the couch. "Ow," he groans into the rug. 

"Arthur!" Phillipa shouts, tiny voice drilling into his ears. "Arthur, Santa came!"

Arthur sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, Santa was here."

He stands up and smiles as Phillipa tears into her presents. Something crinkles under his foot, and he looks down and grabs the paper on the floor.

 _Arthur,_ it reads. _I had a wonderful time with you last night. Thank you for making me feel not like a tradition. Love, E._

Underneath, there is an address. Arthur tucks the paper into his pocket as James comes running into the room, dragging a half-conscious Dom behind him.

"Morning," Arthur says, laughing.

Dom grumbles something and flops on the floor.

"This is why we have to put the lights out, Arthur," Phillipa says, holding up one of the presents Eames had placed in Arthur's arms last night. "If we didn't make the runway, Santa wouldn't be able to land his sleigh!"

"It's tradition," Dom dutifully mumbles.

"No," Arthur says, thinking of sleighs and empty mugs and a ring of keys. "It's more than a tradition, isn't it?"

"It's a present!" Phillipa sings. "A present for Santa."

James claps his hands together and cries, "Santa, Santa!"

"I'm gonna go back to sleep," Dom says.

Arthur laughs and makes Phillipa and James hot chocolate and sits with them as they unwrap their presents, and the entire time, he thinks of the piece of paper tucked in his pocket, signed with an E.

*

The apartment is nondescript, except for the enormous mistletoe wreath hanging on the door. Arthur trots up the stairs and knocks on the door before he can second-guess himself.

When the door swings open, Arthur takes a moment to stare at Eames and smile, feeling giddy and ridiculous, and he shoves a cup of hot chocolate into Eames' hands.

Eames glances down at it, then back up at Arthur. 

"I'm glad you're real," Arthur blurts, instead of what he'd been planning to say.

A smile blooms across Eames' face. "I'm glad you're not on the naughty list," he responds.

Arthur rolls his eyes and says, "Do you want to spend New Year's with me?"

"I'm not sure," Eames says. "Is this out of duty to some odd tradition you Yanks have?"

Arthur answers, "I want to make a new tradition. With you."

Eames reaches out and pulls Arthur close, leaning back against his own door. "I think I can live with that," he breathes, and kisses Arthur under his mistletoe wreath.

**Author's Note:**

> As I got to the end of this, I realized this fic shared similarities with my other Eames-is-Santa fic, Up on the Housetop. Oops. Eames just really likes to be Santa, okay??


End file.
